


a Crappy Night at the Sticky Goat Saloon

by barelyaconcept



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Guardians to the rescue, I didn't tag this for noncon bc there is no noncon but Peter gets drugged in a bar, M/M, Peter-whump, Protective!Rocket, also I should be studying for finals, why is Groot in the bathroom anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelyaconcept/pseuds/barelyaconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not as cracky as I think the title suggests, I just like quirky bar names.<br/>A trip to a bar on some planet somewhere finds Peter drugged up and the Guardians leaping to the rescue.</p><p>Not much to it, I just really wanted Rocket standing between Peter and bad things and I tried to draw it but humies are difficult, so you can have this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a Crappy Night at the Sticky Goat Saloon

**Author's Note:**

> I would be sorry, but I'm procrastinating anyway, and at least writing fic makes me feel sorta productive. (And seriously, don't ever let anyone tell you translating poetry is easy, okay, because it's not.)  
> Also I really have no idea why Groot is off gallivanting in the restroom. Maybe he had some backed-up pollen from the bar-smog? I just needed an excuse for the Big Damn Heros-ish rescuing and Groot is all of the BDHs on his own.

Rocket was just sitting at the bar, minding his own business and waiting for Groot to get back from the little trees’ room when a giant lump of Terran landed haphazardly on the barstool next to him. A rather floppy, Quill-smelling Terran, except not exactly because something was... off. 

“Quill? What the fuck, dude?” Rocket swiveled on his seat to look the human in the face. Or rather, to look him in the face once said face lifted off the bartop with a bleary blink.

“R-Rocket? Rocket? Where... Rock, somethin’s... Somethin’s really uh... Somethin’s wrong,” he slurred earnestly, just barely audible under the growl of shitty music and bar-noise, and Rocket began to realize that the smell he had assumed was excessive synthehol was definitely something else.

And that’s about when the big Andorian came rumbling up, big fake grin plastered on his face. It became very obvious very quickly that the stupid lug had thought Peter was in this skeezy dive alone and that Rocket was going to have to prove that assumption wrong __soon__.

“Hey, there, sorry about that. ’Fraid my buddy here may have had too much to drink. Guess I’d better get him home!” and then there were giant hands reaching for Quill’s slumped shoulders and Rocket was scrambling across Peter’s thigh to perch on his angled back and snapping at Dumb-Ugly’s sausage-fingers.

His left paw went to his ear and for a brief instant he was ridiculously grateful that the team had been paranoid enough to wear their comm units during their little shoreleave. “Guardians, north corner, bar, Quill’s down and Groot’s MIA. I need muscles, stat,” and then he could see the waves of movement in the bar as disgruntled partiers and thugs shifted out of the way of Drax’s violent crowd-parting.

“Back the fuck off, buddy,” Rocket snarled, even as the guy refused to take the hint and flee. D’ast, but criminals seemed to be getting dumber by the day, the man obviously didn’t know when to cut his losses, but -- ah, and there was Gamora, rising behind the would-be Quillnapper like some kind of green avenging angel, wielding a taser.

 

The bar closed down pretty quickly after that; there weren’t many clientele interested in hanging about once the local authorities were summoned, but Drax and Gamora managed to drag Peter’s nearly-assailant out onto the sticky sidewalk to minimize the impact on custom and Groot finally showed up to shuffle Peter out into the slightly-less-muggy night air.

“R’cket? No, Groot? Hey, buddy, why so... Hmm... Clos? Where’s Rocket, I was just talkin’ to ‘im. Sounded kinda funny, though. Angry. Wha’d I do?”

“We are Groot,” Groot rumbled reassuringly, glancing significantly at Rocket.

And, seriously, just when Rocket had been thinking he might recover from the world-shattering burst of protectiveness the incident had inspired in him, Quill had to go and fuckin’ sound like __that__ , like Rocket being angry with him was the worst possible fate in the world. He scrambled up Groot’s leg and across into Peter’s lap to tuck his ears up under that beard-scratchy chin and reached up with one hand to pat at his face.

“Naw, Peter, not mad at ya, just worried. You gave us all a bit of a scare, babe.” Peter turned his head and tucked his cheek a little closer into the warmth of Rocket’s palm and hummed contentedly.

“Hmmm, sorry. Di’n’t mean to. E’erbody okay? You’re warm. Hey, Rock’t?”

“Yeah babe?”

“Ya think Groot would take us home? Nap sounds good.” He blinked sleepily and lolled against the bark of Groot’s chest.

“Gotta get you checked out first, buddy, but then we’ll go home and you can sleep.”

“Tha’s good. Hey, Rocket?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Tell e’erbody thanks for me, in case I forget.”

“Okay, Peter. Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is totally awesome and I'd love to hear what you think, even if it's "That was horrible and you have no grasp on reality." :P (Actually, that'd probably be a good thing, 'round these parts!) :)


End file.
